“And I’m Jack Buntline,” he answered; “the son of widow Buntline. Do you remember me?”
“Remember thy mother, lad, that I do, a good woman. And now I look at thee I see that thou art her son. Come in. Come in. Thou art welcome.”
Thankfully did Jack enter the humble cottage. He had found what he longed to meet—some one who knew his mother. Long and earnestly did he talk to Mistress Hughes about her, and the dame was somewhat astonished to find his voice falter and to see tears come into the rough seaman’s eyes as they spoke of her.
“Ah, the heart of the lad is in the right place I see,” she muttered, “though to be sure he don’t look as if he often cried.”
Jack at this time had huge brown whiskers, and a beard big enough for a rook to build in, while his cheeks were of the colour of mahogany, and his hands as hard as a smith’s anvil. Dame Hughes had become a widow since Jack went to sea, but she had a daughter. While they were talking Nancy Hughes came in from gleaning. Nancy was a good girl, though she had little that was attractive about her except an honest open countenance; but she was the daughter of the woman who had known his mother, and from the first Jack found his heart drawn towards her. Jack lingered on in the village. The old man whose son had been killed at sea lodged him, and loved to listen to his tales of sea fights and adventures. So did Nancy. Before many days were over he offered to make Nancy his wife, and she consented. They were married. Jack was very happy. He cut out plenty of work for himself—built another room to the widow’s cottage, and helped the neighbours when any work was to be done; but it was not profitable. Jack, like many a man possessing far greater experience in the world, forgot that his money would not last for ever. He put it into a bag, which he gave to Dame Hughes’s safe keeping, saying he could get plenty more when that was gone, but he forgot to explain that he must go to sea to get it.
At last Jack found that the bag was getting empty. Poor Nancy was very sad when he told her he must be off, but she saw that there was no remedy for it; so with a sorrowing heart Jack shouldered his stick and bundle and returned to Plymouth, where he had left his chest and other worldly goods.
The long war was over, and England was at peace with all the world, but he had not many days to wait before he found a ship fitting out for the Pacific. The accounts he heard of her were favourable, so making arrangements that his wife should receive half his pay, he joined her for a four years cruise.
Away went Jack on board the Hero, once more to make the circuit, and more than the circuit, of the world. Sometimes for months together he was scorching under the sun of the tropics. At others, he was frozen up among the icy regions of the northern pole. This voyage he had only the elements, pestilence and famine, to fight with. Storms were skilfully encountered, and the Hero more than once narrowly escaped shipwreck, but fever visited the frigate and carried off many a victim. Dreadful were the ravings of the sufferers as they lay tortured by the fell disease. Jack assisted to tend his shipmates with the tenderness of a woman. While others stood aloof, fearless of danger he went among them. Had he any talisman to guard him? No. But Jack knew that it was his duty to tend the sick, and he trusted in God’s right arm that He would protect him. The fever at last disappeared, and Jack was unharmed.